What She Remembers Most
by morvamp
Summary: Even after all these years, she still finds herself here when Christmas comes around.


**I'm not even sure what this is. It started as this beautiful idea in my head that was so much different than what ended up in my word document. But it's written and I made promises to certain people to post it. So here it is.**

 **It's different than anything I've ever written… especially because the POV isn't Damon or Elena's… which was seriously HARD. Plus, there are kids involved. HOW THE HELL DO YOU EVEN WRITE DAMON AND ELENA WITH KIDS? I don't know. But I gave it a shot. And what's the point of writing if you don't take chances, right?**

 **Hopefully it touches those special DE places in your heart and doesn't make you want to gag from cheesiness. If it does… then I'm sorry. You can just exit out of your web browser and forget this thing ever existed. Deal? Okay, deal.**

 **Happy Holidays, y'all!**

* * *

Even after all these years, we still find ourselves here when Christmas comes around. In this tiny town that started it all, immersed in a bittersweet snow globe of white. It clings to the tree branches as they sigh against the wind, it shields the grass as it protects those beneath it, and it drapes over the gravestones as they remember those we've lost.

But I prefer to remember them for _living_.

Same as I'm doing now. Same as the man three years my junior, standing by my side.

His bright blue eyes, so familiar to my father's, sparkle against the snow floating around us. We've been through so much, witnessed so much, but standing here, what resonates the deepest is the love shared throughout the decades.

It has me remembering the first moment I was old enough to truly grasp the depths of it, and I can't keep my lips from spreading into a slow smile.

. . .

This house is different than the one I share with mama and daddy and Rhett. Bigger. Older. It's wood walls and scary furniture remind me of Hogwarts, and just like that castle, I'm certain magic lives here.

So do Uncle Stefan and Aunt Caroline.

They're hovering over my brother and I as we open our gifts, along with the rest of our family. It's crowded, but I like the attention. It makes me feel important.

Rhett drools on Mama's hand as she helps him unwrap a Tonka trunk and it has Aunt Caroline rushing to another room, squealing, "I'll get a napkin," as she disappears. Daddy rolls his eyes and Aunt Bonnie slaps him on the shoulder, mentioning something about domestic tendencies and no room to talk.

It makes Mama laugh. Even more so when Daddy tells Uncle Ric that he needs to stop spoiling Rhett, especially since he bit another kid at daycare last week. He smiles the entire time, then rubs Rhett's head.

"He's certainly your son," Mama says.

"I'm not the only one who bites." Daddy winks.

I stop unwrapping my gift and say proudly, "Well, I don't bite." It's frowned upon in pre-k.

"Cause you're our perfect angel." Daddy walks over and scoops me into his arms, supporting me on his hip. "But if a boy ever tries to touch you, you aim for the jugular."

Everyone laughs, but my forehead crinkles. "What's that?"

Mama scowls. "Stop corrupting her, Damon, and let her finish with her gifts."

"What's a jug-u-lore?" I ask, peering at Daddy.

He leans down and whispers in my ear, "I'll tell you tonight. Now finish your gifts."

I take my time with the sparkling bows on top of my presents, careful not to destroy them. I want to hang them in my room back home. They're almost as pretty as the Disney Princess dolls Matt gave me.

And when I get to the last gift, I see Mama's eyes light up. She's excited.

"That one is from Dad and me."

I remove the shiny wrapping paper and flip open the box. Inside is a necklace, exactly the same as Mama's.

I squeal. I've always loved Mama's necklace. It's special to her, she's told me so. She cried one morning when it fell down the drain and she'd thought she'd lost it. Thankfully, Daddy was able to rescue it.

"Do you know what that necklace represents?" she asks.

I nod. Having one of my own means I'm just as special to Daddy as Mama is.

"That I'm special."

"And that we love you," Mama says. "Forever."

She looks at Daddy when she says the last word and he smiles at her, same way he always does when it's spoken. Like they're sharing a secret.

"Forever is a really long time," I say in wonder, lifting the necklace and feeling bubbles in my tummy.

"That's why we're thankful we get to spend it with you."

My friend Maggie at school told me her daddy left when was she a baby and now her mom falls asleep on the couch so she has to tuck herself in at night. Looking around the room, at the faces I've grown up with and the family that's promising to love me forever, I'm thankful I get to spend it with them too.

. . .

My hand lifts to the necklace dangling around my neck. When it was given to me, I didn't understand the significance behind it. That forever was a promise, the end result after years of heartache, obstacles, and missed opportunities. That forever had been literal until an ultimate sacrifice was made. I just knew it meant I was loved.

What came later was the comprehension of being loved as deeply as my parents did. That was only possible by knowing everything. Their pasts, their presents, and the place I held in their future.

. . .

The house is dark, quiet. Rhett fell asleep hours ago, crashing from the sugar high of eating nearly forty Christmas cookies–an accepted dare given from Uncle Jeremy. I left my parents in the living room, snuggling by the glowing hearth as flames danced and illuminated their faces, before I retreated to my room.

Nuzzled under my white down comforter, I finish the last page of _Wuthering Heights_ –my father's favorite novel for obvious reasons. Reasons I'm only aware of because of the story my parents told me last week.

 _Their_ story.

Complete with monsters, doppelgängers, destinies, other sides, curses, and unlikely heroes.

I've always known there was something extraordinary about my family, in the strength of it. A mundane life doesn't wield bonds of steel quite like surviving the impossible. Plus, Uncle Stefan and Aunt Caroline's anti-aging cream was doing one hell of a job.

As I shut my book–closing the door to yet another world because that desire for adventure has always been rooted deep in my bones and now I know why–I head to the kitchen for a glass of water.

I fill the glass and sip the liquid. The Christmas tree glows warmly from the corner of our loft living room, a staple in the wonderful, human life my parents made a reality.

Despite the traffic rushing along the busy Tribeca street below, the only sounds filling our home are the muffled voices coming from my parent's bedroom. I don't want to eavesdrop, so I place my empty glass in the sink and softly pad back down the hallway.

But their silhouettes swaying in the dim light through the crack in their bedroom door makes me halt. They look so blissful with my mom's head resting on dad's shoulder, his hand splayed against her lower back.

"I've missed this," Dad says. "These moments. Just you and me."

Now that I'm older, I've become accustomed to the way they orbit one another, how one tackles a chore or task with the other mere steps beside them either assisting or handling the next. They're a unit. But so much of their time is focused on Rhett and myself. Making sure we're ready for the day. Handling our lunches and school drama. Dealing with life as working parents.

This private intimacy is rare.

I consider the life they've experienced, the obstacles they've overcome to be together, the eternal path they've sacrificed so my brother and I could live. Seeing them like this eases part of my guilt.

"Do you ever miss how it used to be?" my mom asks and I can't help but lean closer.

Dad shifts, bringing her body flush against his. Strands of her chestnut locks slip behind her ear as he uses his fingertip to bare the side of her face. He places a tender kiss against her cheek and pulls back, slightly.

"Sometimes," he admits. "Like this morning, when it took me twenty minutes to make breakfast and load the damn dishwasher. And this afternoon, when Carl increased his delivery charge and I couldn't compel him to give me the shipment for free for being a swindling asshole. And two hours ago, when I couldn't bring you back here and peel off your –"

My mother sighs and shakes her head, failing to hide her amusement.

"But then I feel your warm skin beneath my palm. I taste life on your lips. I see happiness in your eyes. And it's all worth it." His hand finds hers, lacing their fingers as they continue to sway. "Plus, we got our hellions."

A slow smile spreads over my mother's lips. "They're pretty spectacular."

"Because of you."

"Because of both of us."

The inexplicable pull I've always noticed connects their foreheads together, like supports of the same structure. Neither can stand or survive without the other.

 _I wonder if they ever could._

"I think about how life would be without them," he says, breaking their silence, "–if I'd continued down the empty path I was on before you showed up and rearranged everything."

"And?" she asks, eyes curious, hopeful, intrigued.

His remain focused on her, an everlasting stream that whispers 'I love you'.

"I never regret our choice. That eternal life is nothing compared to this one."

I silently close their door on their stolen moment and smile. Because they can't survive without Rhett and me now either.

. . .

The wind picks up, blowing my hair against my face. I hardly notice. The cold doesn't bother me anymore. Spending four years majoring in History at The University of Maine stole the warmth from my blood.

They'd called everyday while I was away, of course. My mother to check in, and dad to make sure I was taking care of his prized '69 Camaro, as well as upper-cutting whatever dick tried to hit on me. I didn't have the guts to admit I'd found someone who made me feel the way they did about one another–inspired, awakened, _alive_. That admittance came years later, once I'd moved back to New York.

Looking back now, it's why I can't regret leaving. My life changed during those four years, set itself on a new path. One that makes me happy. But time is such a precious commodity when you're human and I missed four years of their short, natural life.

I shiver at the thought, but a hand finds mine, comforting me and assuring me I'm not alone. Same as my parents.

. . .

Dad passed first, which is how he preferred it. He'd said he'd lived without our mother before and couldn't survive it again. At the impressive age of 243, he slipped peacefully in his sleep, with her by his side.

I knew it was only a matter of time before my mother followed. I just never expected it to be the very next day.

Wrinkles web from her coffee eyes, strands of gray cling to the side of her face, and smile lines etch the curve of her lips–which are smiling.

Because she's surrounded by family and friends, those of us still living, of course. There's so much love bursting from this room that I'm amazed the glass window panes haven't shattered. It bounces off the walls, hums in the soft Christmas music playing on the radio beside her bed, shimmers from the ornaments dangling from the tiny tree we set up in the corner because she'd wanted this day to be filled with traditional cheer.

Stories from a life before Rhett and I are exchanged, as well as ones that involve us, and each one is accompanied by laughter.

My mother has lived two lives, both bursting with significant moments carrying the components she wanted most. There was a love that consumed her. There was passion, adventure, and even a little danger. And then there was us.

As her eyes begin to dim and her breathing transitions to pairs, the room gets real quiet. We know it's coming, we know she's ready. She may love us, but she always belonged beside _him_.

She focuses her gaze on my brother and I and takes our hands in hers. They're cold, heavy, seconds away from dropping. Then she whispers, "I'm so incredibly proud of the two of you and what you've accomplished."

Tears sting my eyes, but I hold them back. I want to appear strong for her, not like I'm seconds from breaking. But it's the very words I heard from my father just yesterday and losing both parents so soon isn't something anyone is ever prepared for.

"You made our journey worthwhile. Please know that. Never once have we questioned our decision."

My brother nods and I follow suit, unable to find words as powerful as hers to match.

"You were the best piece of our lives and we'll love you and watch over you." Her lids close and her fingers tighten for the last time against mine. "Forever."

It's a promise I know she'll keep.

"Forever," I repeat, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

And as she takes her last breath, signifying her goodbye, I'm comforted by the person meeting her on the other side.

. . .

I still feel her pride as I stare at their two headstones now. I'm thankful they're together. You don't experience a love like theirs only to be separated by something as simple as death. Of that I'm certain.

Their love is the one I strived to find myself. Something messy and fulfilling. I wanted someone who challenged me, surprised me, made me question my life and beliefs. I wanted the same love that consumed them.

And then I found it, as well as the adventure I'd always been craving. I should have known back then that they'd be fine with me either way.

. . .

"Out of the 108 billion people on this earth, you had to fall for a vampire." My Dad's eyes are wide, his expression a myriad of emotions I can't quite decipher. Then he glances at my mother. "This is almost as twisted as the universe telling me you were destined to be with my brother."

"Damon," she scolds. She reaches to touch his shoulder, soothing him the way only her contact can. "Let's hear her out."

"She's 23, Elena. She can't possibly know this is what she wants."

"And me? Was I old enough when I made my choice?"

My father's age cracks through, peppering his raven hair, crinkling the edges of his eyes as they soften. They've shared a life for decades, but my mother was younger than me when it started.

I see the moment it strikes him and he understands. Love isn't restricted to age. It can ignite at any moment, as long as the right person lights the match.

My mother's choice was never to become a vampire, but it was always to be with him. Same as his choice was to be with her. He can't fault me for making that same choice.

He sighs and steps forward to cup my face between his palms. "I wish I could drain the cure from my veins and give it to him, so you didn't have to do this."

There isn't a doubt in my mind he would. "Even if you could, this would still be what I want."

Because I've thought about this since the moment I met my fiancé. For four years I've considered the repercussions, weighed the pros and cons. I'm not diving in; I'm taking assured steps.

"Loving him has made my life even better," I say. "And I didn't think that was possible. Not after everything you've given me. But he's always by my side. Making me laugh, making me dance, making me feel alive."

I take a second to glance at my mother, knowing she already understands. A tear slips down her cheek as my words sink through. They're resonating with memories from her first life. Stroking precious relics of a journey she'll never regret.

Then I glance back at my father.

"And I know this isn't the path you'd planned for me, but it's the life I want for myself. I want eternal love with him. I want it to last forever. I'm certain that if anyone can understand that desire, it's the two of you."

I reach up and touch his hand, willing my words to latch on and amend his doubt.

"Let me choose him, Dad."

He nods with an authority as familiar to me now as his cobalt eyes, the same color that reflects back at me when I look at my fiancé. It's a color that makes me feel safe, valued, protected. And it's probably one of the trillion reasons I'm resolved in my decision.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" my mother asks.

I nod, never breaking eye contact with my father. "Yes."

He studies me for a long time, saturating the room in indecisive silence. I'm certain he's cataloging the pieces of me they've shaped that have brought us to this turning point. The compassion I've gained from my mother, the intellect I've acquired from him, the stubbornness and passion I've inherited from them both.

His fingers trace the lines of my face, the curve of my cheekbones. Features that, come tomorrow, will remain constant.

It has him shaking his head and chuckling.

"I've made a few questionable choices in my life, so who am I to judge the ones you make in your own. Human or vampire, we love you either way."

. . .

My fiancé's finger traces the daylight ring that once belonged to my mother and I glance down at the one he wears that once belonged to my father. Christmas gifts given the very next day as support for the life I'd chosen and the reasoning behind it.

It may have been opposite of the one they'd chosen for themselves, but the deciding factor for both had been the same.

 _Love._

The component that's shaped everything.

"I miss you, guys. So much." My gaze slides to the headstone positioned at their right. "Even you, Rhett."

It's been 212 years since my brother passed. Even longer for my parents. But my chest still beats against the heart they shaped.

I step forward and place a red rose on each of their graves and when I get to the last, I stand up.

"I love you, Mom. Merry Christmas."

My husband's arm curls around my waist, pulling me into his side. His lips ghost my cheek in a soft, supportive kiss. I'm silently thanking my parents for giving me the strength, wisdom, and example to know _this_ is what I'd wanted from life when the black crow lands on top of my mother's grave.

 _Together_ , how they were always destined to be.

And still keeping their promise of looking over me.

Bliss warms my skin.

"You too, Dad."

* * *

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 **I'm on twitter: morvamp**


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